


Touch-Tone Telephone

by TaroSlate



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: But he won't admit it, Dib is 18, Dib is aged up, Floof, Fluff, I haven't decided yet, Lemon Demon, M/M, Radio Host is also young don't worry, Radio Host probably in his early 20s, Romance, Touch-Tone Telephone, and annoyed with said crush, and is socially awkward, because he doesn't understand feelings, dib has a crush, dib is irritated but in love, don't hang up yet, i'm not done, is there any other way he knows how to love, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 16:23:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20745176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaroSlate/pseuds/TaroSlate
Summary: Dib loves tuning into Paranormal Nightly on his AM radio as much as he loved tuning into Mysterious Mysteries as a kid. Maybe even… a little more? He just loves the paranormal, that's all. It probably has nothing to do with that stupid, patronizing show host.





	Touch-Tone Telephone

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t usually write in the romance genre, let alone canon x oc romance, but I make an exception for Lemon Demon. Dib is fresh out of Hi Skool at 18 years old. No, he doesn’t actually use a touch-tone telephone in this, sorry not sorry.

Dib slung his black bag off his shoulder and dropped it in the kitchen, letting the leather strap cling loosely to the chair back. It made a heavy sound and the seat groaned slightly under the weight of so many books. He almost knocked over Dad’s day-old cup of tea as he slid into the adjacent chair and reached across the kitchen table for an object just out of reach. Panicked hands barely kept the ceramic thing from stuttering towards the edge and plummeting to its doom. Once the crisis had been averted, his chest heaved in a relieved exhale, and his hands resumed their quest for the object on the far end of the table. In the end, he had to get up and lay his stomach flat across the surface to properly reach. Slim fingers wrapped around a black radio and pulled it closer. He sat down again and pressed the power button. 

Static. 

Oh, right. His fingers pinched the long silver antenna and teased it out into the open. He listened as the static dissipated, made way for clear tones, voices. 

“Dad doesn’t want you leaving your bags at the table, _Dib._”

“Shh!”

Gaz was a blurry purple gnat in his peripheral. His big round glasses were askew and he didn’t move to fix them as he leaned forwards. 

“What did you even do today? You look like a mess. Not that that’s anything new.”

“Come on, Gaz! I’m trying to listen!”

“You’d better move that bag before Dad gets home.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay I will!” He probably had ages before Dad got home anyway, but it didn’t matter right now. Finally, the violet hues at the edge of his vision dispersed and the black radio in front of him came into sharper focus. 

“_\--sightings on the outskirts of town. Several victims were found with suspicious markings on their arms. When they reported it to the police, the markings were dismissed as weird birthmarks. Don’t you think these people would know if they were birthmarks since the marks would’ve been with them since… well, birth?_”

Dib slammed a fist on the table and the teacup jumped. “Right?!”

“_Of course, you could do what the police did and say it was all a big prank. But I don’t think so, believers. Sometimes there’s just too much evidence to dismiss it as a hoax. Unfortunately, we could not get the victims on the show tonight due to… circumstances. That’s why we’re inviting anyone else with information on this phenomenon--_”

Dib was fumbling with his coat pockets. He slipped his sleek phone into his palm and tapped the very first number on his “Recent Calls” list.

“_\--to call in, please anyone with-- What? Already?_”

A pause. 

A little red phone icon flashed on Dib’s screen and the call ended before it began.

“_We have yet to receive any calls, folks. If anyone has any information on this phenomenon, any at all, I invite you to call in and we’ll have a little chat--_”

Dib pillowed his face with the palm of his hand and huffed, tapping the call button again. 

“_\--don’t be shy. We’re open to anyone. Anyone at all. We still haven’t received any calls, folks._”

He tabled his phone and tapped it again, pulling his notes out of his bag and spreading them out in front of him.

“_Anyone! Anyone at all! Come on, believers. One of you must have seen something?_”

A long, pregnant, _awkward_ pause. Dib had to check to make sure the radio was still on. He drummed his pen against his notes idly. 

The radio host still hadn’t declined his seventh call.

Pause.

“_Well, would you look at that! Seems like we have a returning guest, folks. How are you this evening, Dib?_”

“I’m good, Lok, I’m good,” Dib said in a voice that didn’t sound good.

“_I take it you’ve been on another one of your paranormal escapades lately?_”

“Yes, actually, I have.” He straightened. “And thanks to my investigations, I know _exactly_ what’s responsible for causing those markings.”

The radio host sounded tired. So tired. 

“_Was it Zim?_”

“It was Zim!” Dib shouted, standing up in one swift motion and knocking the teacup clean off the table with a wide sweep of his arm. “He's using them for his sick experiments! Human experimentation is one of the first steps of the invasion. He has to learn more about us, so he abducts us in the night on the outskirts of town--”

The radio host laughed that velvety laugh of his. Grudgingly, Dib admitted to himself that it was a rather nice laugh. You probably had to have a nice laugh to be a radio talk show host. “_You know I’m as much of a believer as you, Dib. But don’t you think if this Zim really wanted to invade the Earth, he’d have done it by now? How long did you say he’s been on this planet?_”

“Seven years, but--”

“_There you have it, seven years and he’s made no progress whatsoever. I don’t think we have anything to worry about from him._”

“That’s because I’ve been stopping him at every turn! But we need to get rid of him for good!”

“_I think you’re doing a pretty bang-up job of it on your own._”

Dib bristled and snatched his phone off the table, all the better to yell into it. “This isn’t a game! It isn’t a joke! You said it yourself, when there’s enough evidence you can’t just dismiss it as a hoax or a prank!”

“_And where is this evidence of yours?_”

“I have lots! I’ll deliver it to you myself!”

(“Your voice is annoying!” Gaz shouted from somewhere upstairs. Dib covered the microphone)

“_Oh-ho. Now this I’m interested to see. Alright, Dib. Come down to the studio tomorrow. Show me this evidence. We’ll review it together on the show. I think it will be quite an interesting discussion for our believers to listen in on._”

“I will,” Dib promised, determination burning in the pit of his stomach. He added, as an afterthought, “Thanks for having me on, Lok.” 

“_My… pleasure._”

The call ended rather abruptly, and Dib slumped back into his chair. The nerve of that guy! Even within circles of so-called “believers,” Dib was treated with patronization and distrust. Well. Lok would believe Dib soon enough. No one could deny the evidence he had amassed. It was irrefutable. 

It was only then that he cast a sidelong glance at the wall and noticed the watery liquid streaming trails of sugary brown tears down the plaster. A flock of white shards idled on the tile floor. Dib moved to clean up the mess, but the sound of the front door unlocking stopped him in his tracks. 

“Good news, Son and Daughter! I’m home early!”

**Author's Note:**

> Do I know how many chapters this is going to end up being? No. But right now, I'm aiming for five.


End file.
